


Five Times Gendry Reminds Arya of Home and One Time He Doesn't

by MarisaKateBella



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drabble, Family, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, One Shot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-20
Updated: 2012-06-04
Packaged: 2017-11-05 16:24:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/408517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarisaKateBella/pseuds/MarisaKateBella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of short drabbles and such that are based around Gendry reminding Arya of her friends and family, etc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Time: Robb

**Author's Note:**

> A quick little series of drabbles I wrote to get a feel for these characters seeing as I’ve never written for them or even for this fandom. I wanted to explore a bit of their relationship before writing the epic story I am starting about them, so if you enjoy this fanfiction and their relationship, or my writing, or both check back in a few weeks to get the first chapter of the fic I’m working on. So without further adieu, I bring you: Five Times Gendry Reminds Arya of Home and One Time He Does Not.
> 
> I lied. One more thing: These drabbles are set in a random time frame where Arya and Gendry are traveling around by themselves/in Harrenhal/with Hot Pie/etc. just because I don’t want to be specific because parts might appear in some form later in different stories.

When Arya wakes with a fright in the middle of a dark forest she is momentarily disoriented. Her eyes adjust slowly as the adrenaline leaves her veins, chased out as the cold night air comes in gasps to her lungs. Once her heart slows she realizes her skin is covered in a thin sheen of sweat and her body involuntarily shivers, causing her to pull the cloak up to her shoulders and hunch down into it against the cold. Her breath comes in small puffs that she can see float out and melt in to nothingness. Her whereabouts and circumstance come back to her slowly, beginning when she notices the fire in front of her, burning low. A piece of the wood breaks under the ash and the resulting thud makes her jump; a little gasp escapes her lips. At the same moment something moves to her left. She tenses, fear seizing her up. She looks down and notices two feet by her. Her eyes travel along the leg, up the side, and to the face of the man next to her. She relaxes with a shaky laugh when she realizes it is just Gendry, who had rolled in his sleep.  
  
Rolled nearer to _her_ , she noticed. Had she been lying down his arm, which had been flung across the ground, would have rested on her belly. Her stomach shuddered with a strange, squeamish feeling at the thought. Suddenly, she felt her self regretting the fact that she had woken up with her nightmare that had consisted of a sea of people with golden hair, all out to find her, to capture her, to kill her.  
  
Another log shifted in the fire, causing Gendry to wake. He didn’t move, but Arya could see the glassy whites of his eyes in the flicker of dying flame. It took him a moment to come to his senses, and Arya found herself staring unabashed as he slowly came around. He flexed his fingers over the dirt and then moved his legs under him, as if to make sure he was still there. Arya understood, she had felt the same way many times.  
  
The haunting thoughts of being wanted by the king.  
  
Gendry moved his hand to his face and rubbed it hard with the palm of his hand, probably wiping the sleep from his eyes. Scrunching his eyes up, he sighed, obviously trying to shake sleep’s heavy hold on him, it had being a long while since either of them had gotten any true sleep. When he reopened them again he sat up immediately dagger in hand.  
  
“Oi! Watch it.” Arya said, moving her body away from his swinging.  
  
He looked at her as if she were an apparition, and then slouched, dropping his dagger to the ground and hanging his head between his knees as he sat. “Sorry.”  
  
“What was that for? Afraid of a little dying fire?” She bumped his shoulder with her own, still heavily shrouded in cloak.  
  
“Nay, afraid that the annoying little lady was gone,” Gendry said, lifting his head and smiling a bit.  
  
Arya looked around, seemingly confused. “Lady? I see no lady here, you should probably still be afraid she’s gone. Though, I don’t recall us ever traveling with one.” Arya looked into the fire pit but Gendry could see the corner of her mouth pulled back in a smile.  
  
“I meant you, m’lady. I thought you’d been taken by bandits.”  
  
“I would like to see a bandit try.”  
  
“And what’s a lady going to do to a bandit?” Gendry taunted.  
  
“I’m not a lady!” Arya snapped and launched herself at him, he fell backwards pretending to be surprised by the attack, but laughed as he managed to trap both her hands in one of his own rather easily. She squirmed in his grasp, trying to free herself and failing miserably, she may be quick, but he was strong.  
  
Gendry continued chuckling as Arya made little “harrumphing” noises as she tried to wiggle away. He held her wrists lightly enough not to bruise but impossible to escape. Finally, worn out, Arya collapsed against his chest, panting. For a moment, as their bodies lay flushed together, Gendry could feel the beating of their hearts next to each other, both quickened from their scuffle. Her chin was on his chest, and she was looking at him with those big, seething, grey eyes. Her cheeks were flushed and her small nose was cold against the night air. He felt a shiver run down his body, an electric shock that ended in a place where it really didn’t need to go.  
  
Gendry sat up and tossed Arya unceremoniously to the ground, crossing his legs and drawing his knees up to his chest. He locked his elbows around his knees and drew them close to his body as Arya scrambled off the ground, very much undignified and completely ruffled at having lost.  
  
She sat next to him again on the ground and pouted, and looked for all the world a small child who had been denied her favorite dessert. “What was that for?” she said after a sullen minute of silence.  
  
“You’re getting fat, m’lady. I couldn’t breathe.” Gendry sucked air through his nose in emphasis, focusing on the wisps that left his nostrils as he exhaled, ignoring the burn of her skin through her thin shirt on his bare arm as she sat beside him, unconsciously huddled for warmth.  
  
She punched him in the shoulder with all the strength her tiny body could muster, which was actually quiet a lot, surprisingly. He rubbed the place on his bicep for a minute before smiling mischievously and pulling at her braid, which hung down her back.  
  
“Ouch! Stop it!”  
  
Something in her voice made him end immediately and withdraw, shrinking away from her as she curled in on herself. Her focus became solely engaged in the remaining ember of their fire from earlier and her eyes shimmered in the stale light, she sniffed and wiped her sleeve across her nose. Gendry stared, bewildered for a moment. He knew that hair was sensitive but he had barely touched it at all, he hardly thought it warranted tears by any means, and even though he wasn’t always gentle when they wrestled or spared she had never told him to stop.  
  
“Arya?” he cautioned, dropping his shoulders so that he was looking at her, eye to corner of the eye, for she stared resolutely into the flames as if she was trying to drown out his presence, pretend he wasn’t there, escape to somewhere else.  
  
She bit her lips between her teeth. They sat like that for a few minutes, while Gendry watched her worriedly, any inappropriate (that is definitely _not_ a brotherly feeling, Gendry) thought was wiped from his mind as he needled himself about causing her pain.  
  
“I’m sorry if I hurt you,” something in his voice must of shook her from her memories for she turned to look at him, sitting up straight, her eyes flashing hard like steel being struck with a hammer on the anvil.  
  
“You didn’t hurt me,” she all but snarled, her Stark wolfishness filling her up with such suddenness and severity that Gendry realized he was absurdly afraid of the little girl.  
  
“Well, what was it then?” He asked a bit more harshly then he’d meant to. The combination of lack of sleep; unsatisfied, inappropriate, unintentional yearning, and sudden illogical fear made him a bit snappish. He regretted the bite to his words the moment Arya recoiled in on herself the shadow of the wolf had passed and she grasped at the ground until she found the cloak, his cloak, and wrapped it around her thin shoulders.  
  
“I don’t know how much you know about my family,” she began.  
  
“They are the Starks, Lords of Winterfell,” he answered automatically, reciting what he had learned long ago when the master of the forge had made him learn the Houses. _The House: Starks_ , the rumble of metal being drawn from coal, _The Sigil: Direwolf_ , the sing of metal on metal, _Their lands: Winterfell_ , the slap of a blade on the anvil, _Their words: winter is coming_ , the hiss of cooling metal in a bucket of water at his feet.  
  
“But my family, specifically,” she sounded strained.  
  
“Well, I don’t know much,” he admitted, “just that your father was the Hand of the King, thought to be a traitor—“  
  
She turned to him and gave him a sharp look, flashing steel.  
  
He held up his hands and finished: “but unjustly so.” He watched her shoulders relax under the heavy cloak and her eyes turned back to the embers.  
  
“My mother is Catelyn, she was Tully. My father had brown hair and scars on his chest from battle. My brother Bran climbed every building in the land better than a squirrel, he fell and is a cripple now. My sister Sansa was always better at being a lady than me—“  
  
As much as Gendry was enraptured by hearing about her family he couldn’t help but cut in and remark upon how he couldn’t believe that was ever true. She gave him a quick smile before continuing to recite her list.  
  
“Rickon was little, but always the loudest in the house.”  
  
Gendry tried to imagine her in a great castle with stone walls, dressed in fine furs and smelling of flowers from oils. He failed.  
  
“Jon had kind eyes and an even kinder heart,” she smile wistfully. “I probably will never see him again,” she added as an after thought and Gendry frowned. He couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t, he wasn’t dead from what he could understand and he knew more than anything else she wanted to get back to her family. He filed it away to ask her later.  
  
“And Robb,” she sighed and looked at Gendry at last, held his gaze, her eyes melted now into moldable iron. “Robb used to tug at my braid whenever I did something very unladylike that he found amusing. He couldn’t laugh about in front of mother, so he would walk by me and tug my braid as he went; it was like a secret code, I always knew he was there, supporting me, when he did it.”  
  
One of her thin hands appeared out of the cloak and grabbed at the back of her neck, she pulled the braid over her shoulder and broke her gaze with Gendry. Instead she looked at the end as she twiddled it between her fingers. She sighed and turned back to him, eyes flickering between hard and gentle. “We should get some sleep,” she said with the random authority that she possessed, which always made Gendry want to obey. He always chalked it up to her nobility but he was starting to wonder if it was docked somewhere in the harbor of unacknowledged feelings.  
  
“Yes, m’lady,” he said with a bow of his head.  
  
She fixed him with an icy glare.  
  
He smiled at her in surrender.  
  
Suddenly she looked down as if remembering something and swept the thick cloak from her shoulders. “Thank you,” she said, holding it out and averting her gaze.  
  
Gendry snorted and took her icy fingers between his warm hands and rolled her fingers back over the fabric, pushing it towards her chest. “Keep it; you need it more than I.”  
  
She seemed hesitant; finally she wrapped herself up again in its warmth. She turned away from him and lay on her side. Gendry leaned back and put his hands behind his head, cradling it off the hard ground. He looked up through the canopy of trees and saw the faint inkling of early morning sky. After a while when he was sure Arya was a sleep and he had finally closed his eyes he heard rustling beside him.  
  
He sighed.  
  
“Gendry?” Arya whispered her voice smaller and more fragile than he’d ever heard.  
  
He opened his eyes and turned his head toward her, noticing how close she had come when rolling over. If he tried to focus on anything but the top of her head, her body became blurred beside him. He could feel her hair tickling the under part of his bicep, he breathed into her hair.  
  
“Don’t leave me,” she placed a hand hesitantly on his chest.  
  
He covered it with his. She lifted her head and locked her eyes with his; she gave him an imploring look as if willing his answer to be in her favor.  
  
He moved his hand from behind his head and snaked down her back, tugging the end of her ponytail.  
  
“Never.”

  



	2. The Second: Septa Mordane, Catelyn Tully, and Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this was a little bit later than originally promised, I have exams all this week but I will try to keep this going as much as I can in the next few days because these little plot bunnies are the only thing really keeping me sane at the moment. Please enjoy! For some reason this scene decided it wanted to be set in an undisclosed forest location in the middle of the night. I guess that’s just going to be a thing for now, let’s hope it doesn’t get boring for everyone!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These drabbles are set in a random time frame where Arya and Gendry are traveling around by themselves/in Harrenhal/with Hot Pie/etc. just because I don’t want to be specific because parts might appear in some form later in different stories.

Gendry rubbed his hand over his face and sat up, his blood rushed in his ears and his heart was slowly picking up pace in an irritating way that made it hard for him to hear clearly. He shook his head, trying to displace the rushing sound that echoed in his head. He squeezed his eyes shut and them opened them rapidly, trying to adjust to the darkness of the night. It was no where near daylight; even through the cracks in the canopy he could see that there was no light in the sky. He sighed to himself and looked to his right where Arya was curled up on her side facing him. She was twitching slightly underneath the heavy woolen cloak he had stolen from the clothesline in a small village, he had felt bad about it but now, seeing it keeping her warm he couldn’t help but let his uncomfortable feelings drift away.  
  
Gendry was watching as Arya’s face scrunched up in her sleep and she began to make small mewling noises that set his heart farther on edge. One of her small hands emerged from beneath the blanket and began to creep its way towards the spot where he’d been laying just a few minutes before. He watched is stumbling, shaking process as it made its way across the damp forest floor. When her hand had extended its reach, she splayed her fingers over the ground and it stilled, except for the occasional jerk as her body spasmed from nightmares.   
  
Gendry hated waking up when Arya had nightmares, he never knew what to do. The first time, when he had shaken her gently by the shoulder, she had pulled a dagger from beneath her cloak and cut his finger. It hadn’t been a deep cut but it bled something awful and stung like a bitch. He had spent the whole day with the tip of his finger pressed against his lips to stanch the bleeding and hadn’t heard the end of it from her.   
  
It had been a while since the nightmares had come. Normally he would wake when the frightened gasps started and lay on his side, staring at her as if her were trying to will himself into her subconscious and quiet her fears. He knew that her traumas were more than she had ever let on, but occasionally he would catch her chanting a string of names under her breath and that’s what scared him the most, what made him think that Arya wouldn’t make it out of this with her head fully on straight. He always teased her about being so quiet, but it was only for concern of what was going on in her head. He was afraid that being silent so long would completely destroy her one day.   
  
Suddenly, Arya began to talk. She sometimes did this when her dreams were reaching an exceedingly frightening climax. Gendry turned his body towards her, watching her face with a concerned expression; his intent eyes focused on her twitching eyelids and parted lips. “Father, no. No don’t, he’s innocent!” He flinched as the whispers became more desperate and urgent. The hand that had come out from under the blanket began to reach again; for what, Gendry knew not. “Please, let me go! I have to help my father! Father,” the words were nothing more than pants and whispers but Gendry heard them clear as day, for he had heard the same words so many times. He imagined what she was seeing, knowing that it was her father up on the stage the day he’d been beheaded. He had never talked to Arya about her dreams but he wasn’t quite as stupid as she always called him. He wondered if Arya had seen her father killed or if the monstrosity of the act had developed into a visual image of horror.   
  
Gendry was snapped out of his thoughts by a new word, one that he couldn’t make out. It came in short two quips of breath. In, out. In, out. Syllable, syllable. A plea, a cry, a name. “Gen-“ breath out, “-dry.” And he realized she was whispering his name. He was stunned, his whole body frozen in an instant as his brain gave up all control of his muscles in order to repeat the sound in his head: “Gendry, Gendry, Gendry.” He couldn’t tell if it was a cry for help or a cry for mercy. Was it his head she was imagining bent before the executioner’s sword?   
  
A particularly loud and sharp cry jolted Gendry and he reached out instinctively for her hand, which was flailing about in the foliage. Her tiny fingers were engulfed by his larger hands and after a moment of struggle, her whole body seemed to vanish as it relaxed and sank back to the ground from where her back had risen in anguish. Her short hair stuck up in the back and her lips were parted slightly but a small smile played their now, her eyes stopped moving behind their lids and she sighed contently.  
  
Gendry sat in his awkward position with his back twisted half way around trying to hold her hand, for he didn’t want to let go before he was certain she had slipped into more peaceful dreams. He didn’t want to move. So he sat, slowly feeling the bottom half of his back begin to ache and cramp as Arya’s breathing slowed and the sweat that seemed to pour from her small body began to evaporate in the chill night air. When she gave one last sigh and turned her body away from him in her sleep, he released her hand as it pulled from his grasp. The cloak had slipped down her shoulders in her fit. Gendry leaned on his knees over her and pulled it up to her neck. She snuggled down into the warmth and he brushed a stray strand of hair from her forehead.   
  
He sat back on his haunches and stretched, when he heard the snap of a small stick breaking. His whole body stilled and his eyes scanned the outline of the trees of where they had made camp that night. All was still and eerily quiet; he could hear the blood rushing in his ears again. Just as he began to relax and stretch out next to Arya, he heard an arrow loosed from its bow and whistle near his ear where his head had been not moments before. Instinctively, he dived forward throwing the top part of his body over Arya’s, who woke with a snarl and a shout.  
  
At the same moment three men appeared from the shadows.  
  
Arya pushed on Gendry’s chest, trying to wiggled from underneath him. The men watched silently, she hadn’t noticed them yet. “What. Are. You. Doing? Get. Off. Me. You. Big. Fat. BULL.” She punched his chest but he ignored her, his body had gone stiff from shock and the only thing running through his mind was: “keep her safe, keep her safe, who cares if you crush her in the process? No one touches her.” “Are we interrupting something?” One of the men purred, stepping a bit closer, cocking his head to the side like an inquisitive cat.   
  
Arya stilled and Gendry felt her shudder beneath him. He had seen Arya stone faced in front of a dozen men with swords but in that moment Gendry realized just how small, just how scared she really was. His whole body coursed with red hot anger.   
  
“Leave,” he snarled, as he glared at the man who had stepped closer. The men behind him laughed.   
  
“What are you going to do about it?” The front man said, cocking his head to the other side.   
  
On the side facing away from the men he felt Arya’s hand dislodge itself from where it had been stuck under his stomach. He looked down at her with his brow furrowed, a question written all over his face. In the dark the grey of her eyes were the only things he could see, in them he could read as plain as day: “trust me.”   
  
His nod was minuscule.   
  
The three men all moved closer to him and he could see their swords were drawn, glinting in the moon, and pointing at the two, lying so vulnerably on the ground. He looked up the sharp point of the closest man’s sword and into his face.   
  
“Well, kill us then, if you’re going to.” He tried for nonchalant but as he was speaking he felt Arya’s hand begin to search its way down his side, past his ribs.  
  
“Ah, in good time my friend, but first the girl.” He offered a hand as if to help him up.  
  
“No,” it came out of more of a rumble than an actual word but he figured they got the general idea.  
  
“Fool, there are three of us and one of you.” He motioned with his sword for Gendry to get up.  
  
“Aye! C’mon, let us fuck the pretty wench. You can have ‘er back when we’re done.” One of the men from the back quipped.  
  
“Shut up,” the leader growled and he turned back to Gendry with a smile, “let’s not make promises we don’t intend to keep.”  
  
All the while, Arya’s hand had been searching Gendry’s hip, her small fingers deftly moving around his belt, trying to find his dagger. He knew it was his job to keep the men talking, and to keep them from noticing. Finally, he felt her grab hold of the hilt. He looked down at her.  
  
“Oi! We said: ‘get off ‘er!’” One of the men barked, with a guffaw. He looked down into those steel Stark eyes and watched them move up and down once in nod. Even though his entire mind screamed in protest, he rolled himself off her, away from the attackers in one swift movement, letting his knees give him movement. As he rolled, Arya’s firm grip on the dagger pulled it from its sheath. Before the bandits had known what hit them one lay dead with a hole through their eye and another was being attacked with all the might of ninety pound girl. Gendry was on his feet in a moment and as the last man recovered from his momentary shock and raised his sword to strike down Arya, Gendry slammed in to him, sending them both sprawling to the ground.   
  
The man dropped his sword and it went flying a few feet away from them as they tossed and turned on the forest floor. Gendry’s mind was single driven: “finish him off, help Arya. Finish him off, help Arya.” Gendry gained purchase by sitting on the man’s hips and without so much as a second thought grabbed the man’s head between his hands and flexed his muscles. With a powerful crack the fighting body beneath him shuddered and went still. Gendry stumbled off the dead man and wheeled around. Arya had managed to pick up the sword that had belonged to Gendry’s victim and was facing off with the last man standing.  
  
They lunged for each other and Gendry’s body reacted, and before he could even blink he was standing in front of Arya as the death blow that was meant to take her down slid across his bicep. He cried out in pain before the fist of his good arm connected with the nose of the man. The bandit fell on his back and before he could even react to the pain of his open wound Arya had bounded in front of him and with a quick, unmerciful swipe of her sword she slit the man’s throat. Gendry had never heard a man die like that and the gurgled breaths that came for a few moments afterwards would haunt his dreams for nights to come. He didn’t have time to dwell for as soon as the body still Arya whipped around. “You! Stupid bull-headed boy!” She spat and he couldn’t help but cringe a bit.   
  
She looked wild in the moonlight, her steel eyes glinting like the blood on the blade of her sword, her cheek covered in speckles of red instead of the usual freckles, her clothes disheveled and dirty, twigs and leaves clinging in her hair.   
  
"Stupid? I saved you!” Gendry said defensively, gripping his bicep with his good hand, concentrating on the throb of pain coming from his knuckles instead of the pulsating sting of his cut skin.   
  
“Saved me! You jumped in front of a sword.”   
  
He bristled, “yeah, to save you!” He gestured exasperatedly with the hand not clutching his arm. They stood and stared at each other as the fight left both their veins. Steel and ice, battling it out for the upper hand. Finally Gendry winced as a particularly painful jolt flew up his arm, Arya smirked.   
  
“Are you hurt?” Gendry asked.   
  
“Not a scratch,” she said smugly as she wiped the edge of the blade on the dead man’s shirt. “You?”   
  
“Oh, yeah. I’m fine,” Gendry practically snarled through the pain.   
  
Arya’s smile faltered at the sound of his voice and she turned and looked at his arm. Dropping the sword she crossed carefully towards him, holding her hands out in front of her as if trying to calm a wounded animal. “Let me see it,” Arya’s voice was surprisingly gentle.   
  
Gendry found himself turning away from her. “No.”   
  
He felt her hands, small but forceful, on his shoulder. “Turn around, let me see.” He reluctantly turned his body back towards her. She gently took his hand between her own and pulled the vice grip off his bicep. He snarled as the full pain of his wound rushed to his arm and she flinched a bit but said nothing. She studied the wound for a moment, scrunching her eyes. “Oh bugger it, I can’t see a thing. Let me get the fire going again.”   
  
“What unladylike language,” he commented, laughing through the sting in his arm.   
  
“Sit,” she snarled and he laughed harder as he perched himself on a log by where they had built a fire earlier in the night. She trotted off to the edge of the woods and Gendry tensed.   
  
“Stay where I can see you!” He called before he could stop himself.   
  
“No!” She shouted back but stayed by the tree line, he watched her shadow as it crept around the edge of their camp until she came back a minute later with some kindling and started the fire. She sat gingerly on the log next to him. “Here, let me see.” Her fingers beckoned for his arm. He grudgingly gave it to her as he resolutely watched the flames, wincing as he felt her fingers ghost over the wound. “Oh, Gendry,” her voice was soft and reverent. He turned to her and he couldn’t tell if it was just the dancing firelight or if her eyes were filling with tears.   
  
“It’s just a scratch.”   
  
“No, it goes deep, almost to the bone. I’ll—I’ll—“ she swallowed hard, “I’ll have to sew it up.”   
  
He gave her an incredulous look, “I will not have you anywhere near me with a needle!”   
  
“And I won’t have you die on me because I was too squeamish to sew up a wound and your pride wouldn’t let me.” She stuck her finger on the side of the wound and pushed as if to prove her point.   
  
He all but howled in pain.   
  
She smirked.   
  
“Do you even have a needle? Or thread?” He looked at her doubtfully and slightly hopeful.   
  
“As a matter-of-fact, I happened to have a needle on me when we left King’s Landing all those months ago.”   
  
“And you never got rid of it?”   
  
“A lady never knows when she will require a needle,” Arya said, sitting up straight and putting on a ridiculous voice.   
Gendry laughed grimly.   
  
“My septa used to say that, and Sansa made sure I was never without.”   
  
Gendry was quiet.   
  
Arya looked at him for a moment and her eyes were soft. “It’s probably going to hurt.”   
  
“Have you ever stitched someone up?”   
  
She shook her head, staring at his elbow, where blood was beginning to collect as it traveled down his arm. She stood up suddenly and looked around, biting her lip. Suddenly her eyes locked on Gendry’s shirt and she smiled, he couldn’t describe it as anything but predatory.   
  
“Arya?” he said questioningly, but she did not respond but instead reached out and undid the bow that kept the front of his shirt from falling open.   
  
“Arya?” his voice was a little more high-pitched than he meant. She smirked and began weaving the laces from their home. As she worked Gendry’s chest slowly became visible. His heart pounded and he realized as she made the way lower down his stomach her fingers began to shake. He dry swallowed and sucked in a breath as the last of the criss-crosses where undone and Arya stood, holding the thin string in one hand, staring at his chest, and looking obscenely satisfied with herself. He used his good arm to try and close up his shirt before she could see his heart beating with her wolf-sharp eyes. “What are you covering up for?” she asked and that childish innocence crept back into her voice. The moment was broken and Gendry looked down at his knees.   
  
“Cold,” he mumbled.   
  
She laughed, “no need to be shy, Stupid. I’ve seen you without a shirt plenty of times before.” Her voice sounded awkward as she finished her sentence and she cleared her throat. Gendry looked up at her, she had her brow furrowed and she was staring unabashedly at his chest. He could feel the rumble of desire beginning again.   
  
“Right…so, sewing you up.” She laughed a little nervously and sat back down on the log next to him. She rummaged around in her pockets before pulling out what seemed to be an industrial sized needle.   
  
Gendry swallowed loudly.   
  
Arya ripped off a piece of his sleeve.   
  
“Hey!” he said in surprise, staring at her incredulously.   
  
She held it in front of his face like she was feeding a horse. “Bite this.”   
  
He gave her a hard look.   
  
She wiggled the cloth in front of his face. “I promise, you’ll thank me later.” With a sigh he opened his mouth and she clumsily stuffed it in his mouth, her fingers brushing his lips a few times as she worked. It tasted of blood and sweat and he longed to run his tongue upon his lips and taste her there.   
  
He shook his head to clear it. He noticed she already had the needle threaded and ready. He raised his eyebrows at her.   
  
“Lot’s of practice,” she shrugged.   
  
He raised his eyebrows further.   
  
“Shut up!” she said jokingly and went to gently punch him in the shoulder. His other hand grabbed her fist before it connected with his open wound. He gave her an imploring look.   
  
She let her hand fall, sheepish. “Right, sorry.” She held the needle to his skin, the cool of the metal was welcome against his burning flesh. He noticed her hand was trembling, or was it just a trick of the fire and shadows? He sucked in a breath and so did she. He closed his eyes and Arya was glad he did so that he did not know that she had too.   
  
It was endless minutes of seizing pain. He was glad for the cloth because he would have chewed his own tongue off with the pain.   
  
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She kept muttering as she worked, and her stomach churned with each sharp intake of breath he made. After it was over they both looked at each other. She chuckled nervously. “What do you think?”   
  
He spat the rag that had been his shirt sleeve on the ground and turned his arm, which still twitched painfully and felt oddly tight. The stitches were uneven at best but they were deep and they were true.   
  
“I would’ve liked them straighter,” he said in a dry, raspy voice. He had been trying to go for humor but it came out as a painful croak.   
  
“I’m sorry! I know. I should have paid better attention to Septa Mordane. She would have known exactly what kind of stitch to use! I’m worthless at stitching, Sansa used to tell me all the time. And mother would chastise me for having the hands of a Master of the Horses and not a lady. Oh! I’m sorry.” She buried her head in her bloodied hands.   
  
Gendry was taken aback by the passionate response and sat staring awkwardly at her for a moment. He turned towards her and gently pried her fingers from her face.   
  
She tilted her head up to look at him.   
  
“Thank you,” he said, with a small smile.   
  
She smiled back under the tears that sat unshed in her eyes. “You’re welcome.”   
  
He drew away from her and looked at his now bumpy arm. “You really are shit at sewing though.”   
  
She punched him in the chest, “and you’re shit at being a gentlemen.”   
  
“I am no lord, m’lady, just a humbled, lowly man.”   
  
She shot him a look of pure loathing.   
  
He laughed.


	3. The Third: Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so I finished the paper I had to write and figured it was time for the next installment of this fic, I’m so glad it’s gotten such a great response! Keep the comments and kudos coming; it is fuel for me to continue with this. I’m so humbled by all of this. This chapter goes out to all of my Sisters (you know who you are) thank you for making me get my paper done and being such lovely people. For your kindness have some Gendry feels!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: These drabbles are set in a random time frame where Arya and Gendry are traveling around by themselves/in Harrenhal/with Hot Pie/etc. just because I don’t want to be specific because parts might appear in some form later in different stories.

Long days on the road had made it nearly impossible for Gendry to remember how to act in proper civilization. In all honesty he realizes that he probably wouldn’t even remember his name if Arya had not been travelling with him, calling his name every so often in her sleep. He sighed and shifted from foot to foot, staring at the small town in front of them.

“Will you calm down?” Arya snapped, looking sideways at him from their position where they hid at the tree line near the edge of the village.

“I don’t think this is a good idea.” He rumbled, glancing down at her as he leaned against a tree and she ducked behind a bush. He could see in the way she crouched that she was tense, perched on the balls of her feet, hand gripping a branch to steady herself, her eyes fixed on the movement of smoke coming out from the chimney of the inn.

She jumped as a cat flashed across the road and disappeared down an alley, then sighed and shifted her position, rolling back to sit on her haunches. She began drawing meaningless patterns in the dirt on the ground.

“Well, are we going?” Gendry asked after a moment.

Arya stood up, stretched her back and nodded once, her back straight as an arrow.

“You know what to do when we get in there, right?” Arya asked as she took a step forward and broke out from the tree line, stepping into the sunlight. The sun glinted off her greasy, spiky hair.

“Right,” Gendry said, breathing anxiously through his nose and he stepped out into the setting sun behind her. As she began to walk forward he followed solemnly, as if there was a string pulling him to her, keeping them on the same track. When they reached the front of the inn Arya put her hand on the door and turned to look over her shoulder at him. He was standing a few paces back but he could see the uncertainty in her eyes. He gave a short, curt nod. She parroted the movement and pushed the door open. Gendry stepped over the threshold, looking back over his shoulder before closing the door behind them.

Inside it was dark and loud, Gendry automatically quickened his pace so that he wouldn’t loose Arya in the crowd. She threw an annoyed look at him and he shrugged, putting a hand on her shoulder to keep contact, but making sure not to lead her anywhere, he didn’t want to get into a fight with her in front of all these people. Looking around Gendry noticed several eyes were following their progress as they weaved around bar stools and round tables full of disheveled men.

When they reached the bar counter Arya climbed nimbly onto a bar stool as Gendry stood behind, a towering presence. He crossed his arms and drew himself up to his full height. A man sitting on the bar stool next to Arya leered up at him with interest, but thought better of speaking to him. The plump woman behind the counter had rosy cheeks and an air about her that seemed distinctly harassed. When she made her way to their end of the bar she looked Arya up and down.

“’Ello, sweetie, what can I do for you?” She put her hands on her hips and smiled. Gendry noticed she was missing a tooth or two.

“My brother and I need a room for the night, plus a hot meal,” Arya paused, bit her lip, and then said in a rush of breath, “and two baths.”

Gendry smirked from behind her, humored by her annoyance at the need to feel at least a bit cleaner; river water didn’t do much to wash the mud from you. Gendry realized they must look quite rough, he couldn’t even remember how long they’d been on the road. Both of them were covered in dirt, it smeared their shirts and faces. He could spy twigs and pieces of leaves stuck in Arya’s hair and imagined his didn’t look much better. One of his shirt sleeves was clumsily ripped off and the wound that Arya had sewn up was still healing, the flesh a messy tangle of leather and blood and flesh.

The innkeeper appraised Arya, her eyes raking over her small body, and then she took in Gendry. “You and your brother, eh?” She said, sucking in a breath between the gaps in her mouth.

Arya nodded.

“Names?”

Arya dropped her eyes, “Arry and Gendry.”

“Yer surnames?”

“Waters,” Arya said looking back up. This had all been part of the plan: two bastard brothers travelling together; nothing to raise suspicion. Turned out they were right, the woman made no comment.

“Got the gold?”

Arya dropped an intricately sewn silk bag on the counter; it didn’t have much in it but enough for a room, two meals, and baths. Arya had picked it off the man they had killed, the one who had cut Gendry’s arm. The woman swiped it off the counter and counted the coins; occasionally she’d look up and when she did Gendry found himself trying to look as menacing as possible. He assumed it was working for she stowed the bag in the cleavage of her dress.

“Right, up the stairs, first door on the left is yours. Bath across the hall.” She jerked her head to the staircase.

“Thank you,” Gendry said, as Arya hopped of the bar stool. His voice sounded strange and gruff, he hadn’t spoken to anyone but Arya in what felt like years. He put his hand on Arya’s shoulder; he could see she was stiff with tension. She shrugged him off violently, he heard the innkeeper laugh.

“I’m going to bathe. Wait here.” She snapped and started up the stairs with their small bag full of a change of clothes for each of them and a few pieces of stale bread.   
“Oi! I’m not your dog,” Gendry called up the stairs after her.

She turned and answered, “no stupid, you’re a bloody bull.” She disappeared up the corridor.

He shook his head and turned around, finding a seat in a corner at a small rickety table. He had to push his foot under one of the legs to stop it from wobbling. It felt like forever that Gendry sat there staring moodily at the people around him. No one seemed to pay him any attention, just like they had his whole life. Gendry the Bull, Gendry Waters the Bastard. He’d never had someone pay attention to him, no one to rely on him; even his Master hadn’t cared an inkling, sending him off to the wall with nothing more than a pat on the back and a nod of the head.

It didn’t mean anything to Gendry, being sent off to the wall, he had no one to miss and no one to miss him. But now, he knew what companionship felt like and he grew restless without Arya beside him, he couldn’t stop imagining everything that could happen with her all alone without him there. Gendry was no fool, he knew Arya could handle herself, but it was still unsettling to leave her for long periods of time. He munched on the food that had been laid out before them, trying to focus on not looking too anxious. They were just two travelers on the road together, nothing to be suspicious of.

He sighed in relief when she finally appeared at the bottom of the stairs. She looked around from him, standing on the tips of her toes to try and see over the crowd. He watched her for a moment with morbid curiosity; his mind cruelly wondering what she would do if she thought he had gone. She had begun to look around a bit more frantically now. He saw her eyes scanning the crowd, her face was smooth as marble but those wide, silver eyes were jumping from one face to the other with a desperateness that made his heart clench.

He rose from his seat, and in doing so immediately attracted her eye. Her whole body leaned forward as if she were preparing to sprint towards him. He saw her mouth his name as relief flooded her face and she quickly dove into the crowd, weaving in and out of people. When she reached Gendry she slumped in her seat and tore a large bite off of the leg of lamb laid in front of them. Gendry watched her eat her fill, studying her. Her hair had grown and was now hanging down almost in her eyes and soft curls touched her shoulders, she wouldn’t be able to pull off a boy much longer. Not with those big, soulful eyes and small nose dotted in freckles that he could see even in the dim light of the inn, with her face scrubbed clean. Or maybe he could only see them because he knew they were there.

She stopped eating and swallowed. “Need something?” she quipped in annoyance.

“Hmm?”

“Why are you staring at me?”

He blinked, “I was not.”

“Yes you were, you looked like you’ve been starving and I was a fat pig.” She tore off another bite, greasy fingers fumbling with the white bone.

“Keep eating like that and maybe you’ll turn into a pig.” He snapped, annoyed that she’d caught him looking at her.

She smiled smugly at him.

The innkeeper came over again to refill their mugs. The mead she had given Gendry before had been sweet and warmed his bones but he put his hand over the lid of his cup, he could not afford to loose his senses in this dangerous, unfamiliar place.

“Oi, Bastard, you paid for the drink, let me refill it for you!” The innkeeper insisted, winking at him and moving her hips suggestively. “Just another little drink,” she tried to wrest the cup from his grip. Arya watched warily.

“No,” Gendry growled, “and don’t call me that.”

“Call you what? Bastard?” the woman sneered, withdrawing. Realizing her seductive efforts had failed she felt affronted. “Bastard? Is that what you don’t like? Because that is what you are. Bastard.” Spit flew from between the gap in her teeth, squeezed between the gum and her tongue. It landed on his cheek. He stood up from his chair, as it toppled over it seemed as if all sound in the inn had stopped.

“Don’t. Call. Me. That.” He snarled and anger flashed in his eyes. Suddenly he felt a presence beside him, Arya was there and her small hands were gripping his wrist.

“Come on, Gendry, let’s go.” She tugged a bit.

He yanked himself from her.

“Aw, look how the bastard listens to the little girl,” the innkeeper cooed and several of the men laughed.

“Stop,” Gendry growled, his fist curling into a ball. The innkeeper laughed louder.

“Look boys, he’s such a gentleman, not going to hit a lady. The bastard has honor!” Her guffaw struck him through to the bone, like the jolt of hitting a sword wrong on an anvil with a hammer. She opened her ugly mouth to speak again but before any words came out, Arya had sprung forward and punched the blonde straight in the teeth. As she reeled back, shaking her fist from the impact she spat angrily at the hag.

“Shut up.”

The woman looked stunned, her hand cupping her bloody mouth. When she drew her hand away, a shiny white pearl lay in it. “You knocked out one of my teeth.”

“Good, they were uneven anyway.” Arya spun around and stalked through the silent crowd. When she disappeared, Gendry snapped out of his fury and followed after her, the sea of people parted for him without hesitation.

He followed her up the stairs to the small room that had been given to them. She stormed in angrily, leaving the door flung open behind her as Gendry followed her in, closing the door and locking it. She sat in the window sill, drawing her knees up to her chin. Gendry sat at the end of the small bed with his head in his hands, running his fingers through his still dirty hair.

Suddenly he felt gentle hands tugging at his black locks, he let his hands fall between his knees, looking at the top of Arya’s thighs as she kneeled before him and ran her fingers against his scalp. “You know, one of my brothers was a bastard.”

Gendry looked up, and her hands fell away. He wanted to ask her to place them back but the moment had been broken. His blue eyes met her grey ones and searched them, he could only see honesty. “Oh?” Was his articulate reply.

She nodded. “Jon, he was about the same age as Robb. He was my favorite. Remember the sword that I used to have? The one you asked me about that one time?”

He nodded mutely.

“He gave it to me before he left, he lives on the Wall now. One day, I’m going to go see him. Perhaps live on the Wall with him, take the words of the Night Watch.” Arya looked down at her hands and laughed. “At least, that’s what I used to tell myself, when I was younger.”

Still so young, he thought to himself as he watched her.

“Jon told me something that Tyrion Lannister told him once. Wear your name like armour, and then no one can hurt you with it.” She looked up and smiled at him.

He pursed his lips back, shrugging his shoulders.

She sprung at him suddenly and before he could react she had wrapped her arms around his middle and he realized she was hugging him and not attacking him. He slowly put his arms around her shoulders, when he had encircled her in his arms she squeezed him tighter. He rested his cheek on her hair, it smelled slightly of roses, but still strongly of dirt.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, squeezing him again, “my father never thought it did, and I don’t think so either.” She buried her nose in the side of his neck.

“Thank you,” he whispered quietly.

“He was my favorite, I miss him.” Arya sniffed a bit and Gendry felt something hot and moist on his neck and he realized she was crying. He shifted his position, lifting her up without breaking their hug, she realized what he was doing and curled her legs up so that she was cuddled in his lap. He bent his head down towards her belly as her arms encircled his ribcage. She snuggled down into his lap, his hair brushing her hip where he hung his head.

She was so young and so small, and had lost so much. His heart hurt to think about it, to think about all the people she’d lost all her brothers and father, and he wondered if he would ever be enough for her.

“Never leave me,” she whispered after a minute.

He straightened up and looked down into her moist eyes, flickering in the dim light. “Never,” he swore.


	4. The Fourth: Rickon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so this one is a bit shorter then all the others and I really apologize for that. I’m not being lazy; I just thought that this scene would be more powerful if it was shorter. I thought it was sweet and I hope everyone agrees. This scene takes place the night/morning right after the last chapter (I never meant for these to be a continuous series to start but I guess it just happened that way.) I’ve appreciated all of the wonderful feedback and support. I’m so glad this is getting all the attention it has! This is for everyone who enjoys it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: These drabbles are set in a random time frame where Arya and Gendry are traveling around by themselves/in Harrenhal/with Hot Pie/etc. just because I don’t want to be specific because parts might appear in some form later in different stories.

It was dark when Arya woke with a start, drenched in sweat and panting. Her eyes fluttered open as she breathed through her nose, trying to calm the fluttering of her heart, the echoes of screams still fading in her head. She squeezed her eyes shut. She was lying on her back on the bed; it must have been the early hours of the morning because even with her keen water dancer ears she could not hear anything happening down the stairs of the inn.

When a soft snore sounded in her ear she jumped a bit, but relaxed immediately remember who it was that lay atop the covers next to her on the small straw bed. She remembered earlier in the night where she had lost all control in the grief of missing her family while Gendry held her in his arms. She slapped a hand to her forehead and groaned in embarrassment. Rubbing her hand down her face she turned her head and looked at Gendry.

She was taken aback by what she saw. Gendry and Arya had laid next to each other many a night on the road, but tonight had been the first night they were able to sleep somewhere besides the cold ground in the dead of the night without even the moonlight to show them the way. When Arya had cried herself out she had collapsed exhausted. Gendry gently helped to tuck her under the covers.

When he had drawn away, Arya had reached out quick as a snake to wrap her small fingers around his wrist. He had half-heartedly tried to shake her off, but she was determined that he not sleep on the floor. This bed was a luxury, one that she didn’t know if they would have again in the near future. After a half whispered argument Gendry sighed, she smirked, knowing she had won. She felt the bed dip as he had crawled over her to wedge himself as close to the wall and away from her as possible, laying on top of the sheets.

She had shook her head at his stubbornness but she was too tired to do anything more than mumble “stupid bull,” and snuggle deeper under the thick woolen sheets. Now, awake in the early hours of the morning she could see him for the first time. His face wasn’t more than a few inches away from hers and she turned on her side towards him in order to watch him closer. A moonbeam shone through the window and fell across his face.

He had not bathed yet, and his face was covered in dirt and sweat, though underneath their was still chiseled cheekbones that had caught her attention on more than one occasion. His long, thick eyelashes dusted the tops of his cheeks as he peacefully slept. He had abandoned his post crammed against the wall and had spread himself out, giving Arya hardly any room to move. She didn’t mind though and had tucked her knees up to her chest as curled around her, one of his arms was laid over his side comfortably and the other was stretched out, Arya using the smooth muscles of his forearm as a head rest. She did not remember becoming like that in the night and wondered how long she’d been laying on his arm and if he still had any feeling in it.

As she watched him she felt something stir in her chest, it made her feel slightly giddy, like how she felt when she would spare with someone; a playful dance of her heart underneath her ribcage. She yearned to know what it meant, the rushing of blood in her ears and flood of blush against her cheeks. He breathed a quiet sigh, his lips parting slightly and his breath brushing against her cheek. With his mouth parted and his thick mop of black hair falling in his eyes, he looked very young.

Not at all like the strong blacksmith’s apprentice that she knew who always stood tall and whose impressive muscles intimidated all who crossed him. Arya found herself imagining those arms around her, squeezing her in comfort as they did. She missed the comfort of someone’s arms to hold her safe, though in the moment Gendry looked no older than a boy, so much more reachable and open in his slumber. He looked a child, wild as the wind.

She could almost picture him as a child then, his hair flopping in his eyes as he ran around a yard, chasing a dog that he may have had. She imagined him sitting in front of a fire and listening to his mother, he had told Arya of his mother once so Arya let her imagination run wild. She could see the woman with her high cheek bones and long golden hair that Gendry might have grabbed in his chubby baby fists like Rickon used to do to her mother.

It was strange, to think of Gendry as a child and Arya found herself wishing that she had known him when they were younger, wishing that he could meet her family, she was sure that they would like him. As she came back from her day dream she refocused her eyes on him. He had closed his mouth, and in that little movement, he had become the Gendry which she knew. Strong and sure Gendry, a man grown and far out of her reach. She suddenly felt very alone.

A tear slipped out of her eye and ran over the bridge of her nose. She blinked and sniffed. When she opened her eyes again she found blue ones staring back at her. They stared at each other for a few moments, not moving or breaking the gaze, nor breathing. Finally she reached out and moved a strand of hair from his forehead. His breath released in a shuddered breath and his eyes half flickered closed.

He breathed her name, still half asleep and pressed the side of his face into her hand. Her heart began to hammer in unsteady beats. She rubbed her thumb across his cheek, the thick stubble there scratching the sensitive pad of her finger. He opened his eyes again and one of his hands snaked around her waist and he pulled her towards him, burying his face in her collarbone. She could feel his breath on her chest, it’s warm fingers stretching down into her shirt, making her shudder slightly for no real reason.   
She found herself moving her hand from his cheek to the back of his head, threading her fingers through the thick, tangled locks of his hair. She pressed a kiss into his hair like she used to do to little Rickon when the two wild children would collapse in a haystack together after running around all day. She felt her heart swell with a strange emotion, as if it would burst out of her body and consume her. She thought at first that it was just the same protective love that she felt for her little brothers when she used to hold them close not so long ago, but when the warmth of the feeling settled in her gut she squirmed in the feeling of the new sensation.

Gendry pulled her closer to him into his sleep, and she laughed a bit, and though she should find it hard to breathe she didn’t. Instead if she closed her eyes and buried her nose in her head she could imagine that she was back home, sleeping in the hayloft of Winterfell.


	5. The Last Time: Eddard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have got to say that writing this part gave me so many feels. I cannot even right now; I’m just going to go curl up with my sobbing self. I hope that everyone enjoys this chapter; it is probably my favorite so far, even though it is relatively short. This is for Priscila, who patiently waited for this chapter to come up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: These drabbles are set in a random time frame where Arya and Gendry are traveling around by themselves/in Harrenhal/with Hot Pie/etc. just because I don’t want to be specific because parts might appear in some form later in different stories.

It is a little after sunset when Gendry and Arya break for camp, both of them are tired and irritable. They hadn’t spoken much since they had moved on that morning. It had been a strange start to the morning, waking up to find Arya in his arms, her small body curled up against his chest. His arm had been asleep and felt heavy when he tried to flex his fingers. She had felt the muscles in his arm move and let out a little moan in her sleep that went right down to the pit of his stomach. He slipped his arm out from under her head, making sure that her head landed softly on the pillow.

He carefully moved backwards and then got out of bed and headed to the bath. When he came back she was up, sitting in the window sill and watching the sun rise. He came up next to her and leaned against the pane, watching her. She didn’t move, sitting as still as a statue; the only thing that moved was her hair as a breeze came through the open window. Finally, Gendry turned his gaze to the dawn, bursting out over the treetops in a brilliant light. He searched the horizon for whatever it was that she was looking at, and found nothing. The sky was as normal as it had ever been.

“Is there something out there that I can’t see?” Gendry smirked, looking towards the girl.

She turned and looked at him finally. “No.”

“Then what’s so interesting?”

“Nothing,” Arya hopped off the sill and pushed past him, grabbing their small bag of provisions and slinging it on her shoulder. Gendry blinked, and followed dutifully behind her, out into the daylight.

Now the sun was setting in between the trees and Arya was poking at the fire that Gendry had started. She sat crouched low over the flames, Gendry watched her from across the pit, the shadows of the flames dancing across her face. Arya looked up at him from under the fringe of her wildly growing hair.

“What?” she snarled with a ferocity that made Gendry frown.

“What, what?” he asked with a bit of a laugh.

“What are you looking at me like that for?”

He raised an eyebrow, “like what?”

“Like, like…” She threw her hands up in exasperation and threaded her fingers through her hair, pulling at the roots in frustration. Alarmed Gendry ran to her and dropped to his knees, pulling her hands from the short brown mess. She snatched her arms from him and wrapped them around herself, as if she was trying to hold herself together.

“Arya, what’s wrong?” His worried eyes studied her.

“You!” She yelled and pushed him. Her small hands hit him square in the chest and he fell backwards in surprise. He landed on his back, his head dangerously close to the flames. He propped himself up on his elbows.

“What was that for?”

She came and laid down with him, he could feel the warmth of her body as she half leaned over him. Her small breasts brushed against his chest and she leaned her face down so close to his that he could feel her breath on his cheek. His heart beat erratically beneath his rib cage and he felt light headed.

“Ar—“

“Shut up,” she snapped her lips near his cheek, her breath ghosting across the sensitive skin of his ear. He shivered involuntarily; closing his mouth and waiting impatiently for her to explain. It occurred to him, a bit late, that he could easily just sit up, or slide out from under her. But he realized he didn’t want to. Arya leaned back a little so that she could look him in the eye.

“Kiss me,” she said, breathlessly and leaned in again.

Gendry sat up suddenly, banging his forehead on hers and sending her tumbling to the ground.

“Bollocks,” Gendry yelled, partially from his surprise and partially from the ache in his forehead. Arya had jumped up and stalked around to the other side of the fire, where she was pacing back and forth. “Arya?” Gendry asked, turning to face her.

She stopped and glared at him, the shadows from the fire making her look much taller than she was. “Why won’t you kiss me?”

“Arya, I—“

“Why not?”

“Arya, I can’t—“

“I know you want to,” Arya whispered, her voice carrying to him on the wind. It was soft and small, just another reminder of how young and innocent she really was.

“I—I don’t,” he said lamely.

“That’s rich,” she scoffed. He began to speak again but she silenced him with a look, steel eyes, though in the fire he could see the hurt flickered just behind the surface, “am I too young?”

He shook his head.

“Too ugly?”

He had never taken Arya to be a girl who cared about looks. It was so absurd that he raised an eyebrow, not even managing to answer the question. Of course she was not ugly, how could she be? With those big, solemn eyes and soft, pink lips. All small curves and furious energy.

She saw his look and her anger crumbled, she collapsed on a large rock and laughed once. “Sansa always told me that a man won’t kiss you if you aren’t beautiful.”

Gendry laughed out loud, “well, she’s wrong about that.”

“What?”

Gendry ran a hand through his hair, “not all men are knights in shining armor.”

Arya frowned. “So, it’s not even that I’m ugly?”

Gendry rubbed his hand over the scratchy stubble on his face. “That’s not—“

“Then what?” Arya snapped, her voice cracking a bit in fury.

“I never took you for a swooning lady.” His own voice was filled with frustration, not knowing how to explain how much he wanted her, how he just couldn’t. She was young, she would never understand.

That struck a nerve, Gendry knew it was a low blow but when she flinched he felt cruel. “I’m not a swooning lady.”

“Yes, but you are a lady,” Gendry emphasized the word, gesturing with his hands, waving them in meaningless large circles above his head.

“I’m not a lady!”

“Don’t tell me you would ever give up the name Stark,” he sounded miserable.

“Of course not, but I don’t see what that has to do with you not kissing me!”

“I am a bastard. No right to lands or a castle.”

“I’d live in the woods,” she cut across him, “I’d rather live in the woods.”

“I have no knights to keep you safe,” he protested.

“Do you really think I need knights to keep you safe? I don’t even need you to keep me safe.”

Gendry dropped his eyes.

Arya bit her lip. “I just mean—oh, I don’t get it. I don’t care about any of those things! You know that, so why does it matter?”

“I am a bastard; by birth I have no honor. Does that mean anything to you? Your father was an honorable man; he would hate me to ruin you.” Gendry crumbled a leaf between his fingers, focusing on its sharp edges as he spoke. When he was finished he threw the bits in the fire.

“So that’s what this is about? You think you’d ruin me?”

He shrugged.

“Gendry, look at me,” the words were a command and Gendry obeyed without hesitation. When he looked up he noticed that she was sitting in front of him, quiet as a shadow. She cupped his cheek with her small hand and her eyes were soft, molten metal. “My father was the greatest man I ever knew.”

Gendry looked down. Arya’s hand was as quick as his eyes, moving down to his chin and jerking his head up. “My father was the greatest man I ever knew,” she started over.

Gendry sighed through his nose, and Arya smiled softly, letting her hand fall from his face. “But his honor is what killed him in the end. To the seven hells with your honor. If I was a peasant or you were a lord, would it make any difference? No. So I am going to ask you one more time…” she scooted closer to him. Her face half hidden in the shadows of the flames.

Gendry’s hands were immobile at his sides as hers wrapped around his shoulders, drawing him too her. When their faces were so close that her features blurred, she murmured against his mouth, “kiss me.”

Gendry turned his head to the side and her lips connected with cheek. She leaned back with a huff and pushed him. “You bull-headed boy! I could skin you,” but instead she just stalked to the other side of the fire and laid down in a huff. “Good night,” she threw over her shoulder at him. It stung as if he’d been hit.

“Good night,” he whispered and curled up in the soft foliage. It was the first time in a fortnight that he had laid down without her heat next to him, and the first time in a fortnight that he did not sleep at all.


	6. And One Time He Doesn't

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning, sexual content. Thank you for all the support. I hope that this chapter was worth sticking through the whole thing. Everyone who commented, liked, or read this story; this is dedicated to you. You are lovely people and I hope you will continue being awesome. I hope I did justice to the end of this series.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: These drabbles are set in a random time frame where Arya and Gendry are traveling around by themselves/in Harrenhal/with Hot Pie/etc. just because I don’t want to be specific because parts might appear in some form later in different stories.

Arya stepped into the stream up to her waist; the chill of the water was a welcomed relief from the heat of the south. She tilted her head back and sighed in release, letting her hands rest gently on top of the water feeling the cool liquid run under her fingers. She wished that she could remove her underclothes and float on top the stream, letting the sun warm her pale stomach, but she was acutely aware of the fact that Gendry was just on the other side of the trees that separated her from where they’d made camp that night.

Still, the feel of the water seeping through her clothes and caressing her stomach was peaceful, Arya had hardly had the opportunity to swim in Winterfell; even with the summer it still snowed more days then naught. Arya dipped below the water, sitting on the muddy bottom of the river and letting the fingers of the water run through her hair and cleanse her dirty scalp, caked with mud and sweat.

Underneath the water she could hear the sounds of the river rushing by, it sounded so full of life with its whisperings. Arya wondered if the river spoke to everyone, or if it was just her. She listened as it spoke of freedom and promise, bubbles slipping occasionally from her nose and partially opened mouth.

“ _Arya ___,” it whispered. “ _Arya ___!”

She pushed off the muddy bottom and kicked her way to the surface. When she broke from the water it was to see Gendry, shirt off wading towards her in the water.

“Arya!” Gendry said, partly in anger and partly in relief. She realized it hadn’t been the river whispering her name, but Gendry yelling for her. “What were you doing?”

She bit her lip as he came to stand in front of her; the water barely reached the top of his thighs. “I was just washing my hair.” She said sheepishly, looking down at the water rushing between them, tugging at her underclothes, now completely soaked through. A gentle breeze caused her to shiver. Gendry, who had just been staring her down in reprimand averted his eyes and a slight blush climbed up his neck and spread over his cheeks.

She looked at him, her brow furrowed and then down at herself. Her shift was soaked, and just about completely see-through. The cold water had made her small breasts break out in gooseflesh and her nipples stood erect and prominent beneath the fabric that clung to her body. She quickly crossed her arms across her breasts as a blush blossomed on her cheeks. Gendry looked back at her after regaining his composure a bit. Arya distinctly avoided his gaze, instead focused on his chest which was shining with droplets of water that had clung to him as he had run through the water to try to get to her.

Without thinking she reached out and wiped a sparkling droplet from his collarbone, letting her finger trail gently down his chest, her mouth opened a bit at the feel of the warm flesh beneath her finger. Gendry shivered but didn’t pull away; Arya took that as a good sign and stepped a bit closer to him, never removing her eyes from the tip of her finger, which had found it’s way back up to his collarbone and was now tracing it’s way up his neck and burying itself in the coarse hairs on the back of his neck.

Arya’s other hand fell away from clutching her chest as she stared, fascinated, at the apple in Gendry’s throat, which was moving up and down in small desperate movements as she curled her finger around a piece of his jet black hair. Her big grey eyes finally flickered up to meet Gendry’s. He was watching her intently, his brow slightly crumpled in thought and his lips drawn tight and serious. He moved a hand, dripping with water, to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear and cup her cheek. Nothing was said but the electricity between the movement spoke for itself.

They stepped towards each other, closing the remaining distance. Their bodies crashed against each other so close that the water from the river could not come in between them. Gendry’s other hand came out to rest against her ribcage, his thumb hesitantly resting above the perk of her nipple. A fire bloomed in Arya’s stomach, so fierce that the river water seemed to boil around her. She locked eyes with Gendry and gave a gentle tug on his hair, where her hand was tangled. He seemed to understand and without removing his eyes from hers he gently brushed his thumb over the tip of her nipple. She gasped and her eyes flickered close for a moment.

Gendry took the opportunity and leaned his head down, gently taking her partially opened mouth with his. The kiss was soft but did not waver, there was no hesitation. Arya’s body reacted without conscious thought. She stood on her tiptoes in the mud, forcing his head backwards with her eagerness. She ran her fingers through his hair and grabbed at the back of his head for leverage, as he went to draw back to take a breath she came with him, not ready to break the kiss. In her haste and inexperience she knocked her teeth against his, jarring both of them.

“Slow down there, she-wolf.” Gendry smiled and Arya glared at him, her cheeks flushed with want. Gendry grabbed her face with both of his hands and gently held her in place. His eyes fixed on hers he moved towards her, antagonizing and slow. When his lips were just an inch from her and she could feel his hot breath enter her parted lips she whined. He chuckled and gently pressed her wet lips to his. She sucked in a breath through her nose and circled her arms around his neck pulling him towards her and opening her mouth.

His tongue flickered hesitatingly inside, brushing against the inside of her lips in a way that sent shocks of electricity coursing through her. She stepped closer to him, wanting to fill every part of him, become one with him, like the thousands of droplets in the river. One being rushing through the world together, for eternity. His hands snaked around her waist and lifted her easily out of the water. She wrapped her legs around his waist, the warmth of her center finding the bulge of his erection and pressing against it, making them both gasp into each other’s mouths.

Stumbling backwards Gendry walked them both towards the shore. When they reached it Arya unwound her legs from him and slid down his body until her feet were touching the ground, her arms never left his neck and he followed her with his lips. When she was safely on the ground she untangled her arms from around him and then shoved on his chest. He didn’t fall but understood what she was trying to do. He sat down, her following him the whole time, not wanting to break the kiss, until they were both laying on the bank of the river, Arya’s small body neatly tucked on top of Gendry’s.

Gendry ran his hands down her back, tugging the hem of her shift up and slipping his hands underneath it. Arya wiggled on top of him, reluctant to break the contact of their mouths, where she was frantically darting her tongue in and out of his mouth, occasionally crashing their teeth together in her desperation to be close. He chuckled and managed to move his head so that she was forced to start kissing and biting down his neck as he worked the wet fabric over her body. Finally, with a final, impatient tug she relented and stretched her arms over her head so that he could remove the shift from her body. For a moment her small breasts were revealed to his eyes before she ducked her head and began to suck on his neck again.

“None of that,” he said. She stopped her work on his neck and gave him a questioning look. He grabbed her waist firmly and flipped them over, laying her gently on the ground beneath him. Automatically her hands sneaked around his neck so when he tried to draw up on his forearms and look at her she came with him, insistent on keeping close to him. As much as the feel of flesh on flesh excited Gendry and clouded his head, he couldn’t help but want more, to be able to explore her like no one had before. He tenderly pried her arms from his neck and laid them out above her head. She averted his eyes. He kissed her swollen lips and her eyes flickered back to him for a moment. “Since when are you afraid?” He whispered against her lips.

“I’m not afraid,” she whispered back but her voice shook slightly.

“We don’t—“

“No.” Arya craned her neck up and kissed his forehead, “don’t try to talk me out of this. I’ve waited long enough, don’t you agree?” Her grey eyes flashed and he realized there was no doubt there, just self-conscious fear.

“It’s alright,” Gendry said, kissing her nose. She answered him with a reproachful look. “There’s my ferocious Arya.” Gendry lifted himself up and kissed down her neck, growling hungrily as she squirmed beneath him. Her flesh tasted like ice, the cool water from the river still clinging to her skin. He made his way to her collar bone, and then down. When his lips grazed over her nipple she gasped and threaded her fingers through his hair, all shyness gone. Her voice sent electricity straight to his groin and he bucked against her.

The resounding moan made his head go fuzzy and he had to concentrate on the soft pink flesh between his lips to ground him. His hands ran up and down her sides, fingers bumping over her ribs. She ran her hands down his back and she arched up, her middle grazing his erection, which strained against his pants. He moaned against her flesh and lifted his head just to bury it in her neck, sucking absently on the notch of her collarbone as she fumbled to untie his pants. When she did and she slipped them down to his knees, he wiggled out of them, casting them to the side.

When he felt her fingers hesitantly rest against his thigh he could do nothing else but push forward insistently. She gently stroked her hand against him and he groaned. With that encouraging sound she grabbed a bit more firmly and began to work him in a way that made him dizzy and also wonder if she really had as little experience as she said she had. He found her lips again and they kissed, long and slow. No tongues, just the soft flesh of their lips moving against each other, their breaths short and shallow. After what seemed like minutes Gendry covered Arya’s hand with his own, moving it away.

She stopped and looked at him, he looked back; blue eyes gentle and patient and the boy that Arya knew and trusted. She moved a piece of hair out of his eye and ran her thumb over his cheek. “Yes,” she answered the unasked question. Gendry nodded brought his lips down on hers, when their mouths touched, he entered her. The tightness of her body around him made Gendry release a loud moan that he buried in her shoulder. She wrapped her arms around his back and her short nails dug into his flesh. She whimpered as he drew out and thrust in again. She nudged against the side of his face with her nose and he turned his head so that she could capture his lips, telling him she was fine.

It took only minutes before the warmth and tightness and her lips and hands and hips and breasts and pants and sighs and eyes were too much and he shuddered with a groan into her mouth and collapsed on top of her, trying not to crush her with his weight. She peppered kisses on his brow and hair as he recovered, panting into her neck. “My bull, my stupid bull, my stupid bull-headed boy,” she whispered as she kissed her way over his face.

“Milady,” he whispered back and kissed the spot underneath her ear.

And for once she didn’t hit him.


End file.
